Caesura
by Jaylie12
Summary: A moment in time. Or a pause in the moving of time. Angst. Staine. Fits into the Catching Time 'verse.


Ficlet: Caesura  
Pairing: Staine  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Summary: A moment in time. Or a pause in the moving of time. Angst. Hurt/comfort.  
A/N: I wrote this a while ago and it hasn't fit into any of the fics I've written so far nor the ones planned, so I fleshed it out. Not so much a fic as just a snapshot. Fits into the Catching Time 'verse.

...

Blaine has seen Steve sad and thoughtful, has seen the way he sometimes looks at people-a mixture of confusion and regret and jealousy. He's seen him frustrated and pounding at the bag with punches just a little too angrily. But he has never seen Steve so undone, so lost and wrecked.

There are no tears, but Blaine can clearly see the dried tracks down his cheeks, eyes blurry and an angry red as Steve sits slumped on his knees in the middle of what Blaine could only call absolute wreckage. The multiple boxing bags are slumped against the walls, bleeding sand. Weights hang off the bars and shelves, some buried in the concrete floor. Torn and wrinkled papers, casualties piled haphazardly in the corner or strewn across the floor in an arc off the drafting table. Broken pencils litter the floor by the chair, and the easels lay fractured and splintered.

He slides his bag off his shoulder and sets it against the wall by the door, taking a tentative step forward. He had gotten a call from Bruce almost an hour ago-the doctor's voice hesitant and cryptic as he spoke of receiving bad news and asked Blaine to come. Blaine had gathered his notes with trembling and clumsy fingers, and left the practice room before his bag was over his shoulder.

"Steve?"

Steve doesn't acknowledge Blaine, his eyes unfocused as he looks at the wall. Blaine notices the reddened and broken skin of his knuckles, blood smeared across the joints and drying. He sees the tight fists and more cracked pencils littering the floor by his knees. Blaine moves closer, taking careful and quiet steps, shallow breathing synchronizing with his footfalls.

When Blaine is standing right in front of Steve, he reaches tentative fingers out and ghosts them over the damp and unruly hair above Steve's forehead and temple. He coaxes Steve's head up, tries to soothe the tense line of Steve's jaw with soothing passes of his thumb.

Dull eyes meet his worried ones, and the tears well. But they don't fall. Instead, Steve blinks slowly, his eyes coming back into focus only to flicker past awareness and into sadness. Tears muddle the bright blue, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tremors shaking his body as he fights against in emotions.

Blaine's heart picks up even more, and he swallows thickly. He slides his hands around Steve's neck and tugs him up and close. Steve goes up on his knees obediently, and Blaine only needs to tip his head down a bit to rest his chin atop Steve's head as he soothes his hands over Steve's taut shoulders. It takes Blaine's soft kisses to his hair and warm palms sliding down his arms for the tension to ebb enough so Steve can even think of moving. When he does, Steve's arms wrap around Blaine's waist and he buries his face in Blaine's sweater, forehead pressing hard against Blaine's sternum.

Steve's breathing hitches and his tears soak the soft material. Steve's arms hold fast, and Blaine feels the ache in his ribs from being held too tightly. Steve's shaking so hard Blaine feels his legs wobble under him but he forces himself to keep steady, to stay balanced and strong while Steve so clearly can't be. He runs his fingers through Steve's hair and along tense muscles as he forces his breathing to remain steady even though his own eyes fill with tears at the way Steve's chest stutters against his abdomen, silent but tortured.

"Breathe, love," Blaine whispers. "Breathe," he repeats, as he tucks down and rests his cheek against Steve's hair. Steve's chest heaves against him and he presses even more into Blaine's sweater.

They stay like that for an indeterminate time, the room's florescent lighting giving nothing away. Blaine keeps up his ministrations-the kisses and caresses, quiet words meant to soothe. Steve's arms begin to slacken before his breathing evens out. Eventually, he slumps back down, arms falling heavy at his sides and head hanging.

Blaine crouches, runs his thumbs across damp cheeks and ducks his head to get a better look. Where Steve had been distant and locked inside some kind of pain when Blaine had first seen him, now, he just looks tired and spent, looks like the weight of the world rests on his hunched shoulders. Blaine's fingers circle Steve's wrists and pull his hands to his lap. Steve stays quiet.

"Steve," Blaine says worriedly, loosening the other man's fists and letting the shards of pencils fall to the floor. Steve's palms are streaked with blood, are scratched deep and punctured in numerous places. A sharp intake of breath tells Blaine he feels the pain as he removes the last of the wood splinters as gently as possible.

"Come on," Blaine prods kindly, keeping his hold on Steve's wrists as he stands. Steve follows with little resistance, letting Blaine pull him up with a heave. Blaine guides him silently through the room, out the door, and across the hall to Steve's apartment. Blaine sits him down on the bed and heads to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. When he returns, Steve has his elbows on his thighs, hands held gingerly in front of him and eyes again unfocused.

Blaine sits beside him and diligently cleans Steve's wounds, muttering apologies when the sting of the antiseptic causes Steve to hiss. He gently rubs antibiotic over the worst of the abrasions and wounds. When he is done, he doesn't bother with bandages, knows Steve's body is already well on its way to healing.

Setting the first aid kit on the side table, he crawls onto the bed, pulling Steve with him. He settles on his back and Steve follows, laying his head on Blaine's chest and curling around Blaine's small frame. Blaine tangles their legs together.

He doesn't ask, knows Steve will talk when he's ready. Or maybe never. There is still much Blaine does not know-a past Steve keeps locked away though he has let Blaine see it from time to time. They've been together for months now, and Blaine's still learning about what Steve's everyday life is like.

As Blaine strokes his hands over Steve's back and arm, the cause is unimportant. He just needs to be here, to be the one Steve trusts to fall apart with and the one to help put him back together. He squeezes Steve's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm here," Blaine says quietly, steadily, with conviction.

Steve remains quiet save the breath that shudders out of him. He tightens his arms around Blaine's abdomen, and Blaine knows. He knows that he's wanted and needed, and it is enough.


End file.
